Drabbles II
by Sogo
Summary: A collection of entries for year five of The Houses Competition.
1. A Beautiful Friendship

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Drabble

Prompt: [Speech] "Come here! You have to meet (him/her/name)!"

Word Count: 641

**A Beautiful Friendship**

Lee wasn't the strongest kid. He wasn't particularly clever. He was rather ordinary all things considered, and though he sometimes could crack a decent joke, it was hard to find people who could deal with him in a setting that wasn't a large group, let alone one on one. Sure he could be the life of the party, but take him out of the crowd, and no one seemed to quite know what to do with a boy who still wanted to climb the drapes and adopt large spiders (mostly for the reaction others had to them).

So despite his personality and (somewhat) dazzling social skills, Lee didn't exactly have a surplus of friends.

And then there was the magic thing. That didn't help either. For some reason kids didn't want to play with the boy who might accidentally turn your hair some odd color, or knock you backwards off the playset from across the park.

(Lee really had no idea why. The unexpected things made life fun, didn't they? And frankly, Amy looked fantastic with bright pink hair, even _she_ had said so, and he didn't understand why her parents were being so yell-y about the whole thing.)

But he'd told himself after receiving his Hogwarts letter that maybe this could be different. Maybe he wouldn't stand out at Hogwarts so much.

Only apparently he _did_, because those boys in green had started mocking him right away and they didn't appreciate it much when he'd mocked them right back, and then he'd had to make a quick get away before they spelled him with all the spells that they already knew because it wasn't their first year and they'd known about magic for a lot longer than a few months.

Jerks.

So he found himself sitting alone in a compartment, staring out the window and trying to keep his brave face on, despite the fact that there was an empty, gnawing sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. What if Hogwarts was just more of the same? What if he couldn't find anyone who liked the same kinds of jokes he did?

That was when the door opened, a wind swept redhead about his age nearly falling through, lugging a trunk with him. "Hey there! George Weasley! Mind if my brother and I sit with you?"

Mind? Of course he didn't mind. But they might.

He voiced none of this aloud, letting the bright grin on his face do the talking for him. "Course not! The name's Lee! Lee Jordan! Take a seat, plenty of space!"

"Don't mind if I do," George said brightly, immediately sinking into the seat across from him.

The loud sound of flatulence filled the compartment.

And, okay, yeah, Lee could never help himself with something like that. The opportunity was far too perfect to _not_ plant a whoopie cushion on the seat in anticipation. If nothing else, it would amuse him and warn whoever he met just what they were getting into with him.

He cackled at the sound, waiting for George to turn red and angry. But instead, George's surprised face morphed into one of delight as he fished the deflated whoopie cushion out from under him. "That's fantastic! Is it Muggle?" Without waiting for an answer, he leaned out the compartment door and shouted down the corridor. "Fred! Fred, come here! You have to meet Lee!"

An identical red face peered around the door a moment later. "Hullo, Lee! I'm Fred! The handsome twin!"

"Forget the normal introductions!" George interrupted, waving the whoopie cushion around. "You have to see this! Lee! How do you make it work?"

Grinning so widely he felt his face might split, Lee took the whoopie cushion in hand and began the task of explaining how it functioned. This just might be the start to a beautiful friendship.


	2. Normality and Morality

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Emotion] Homesick

Word Count: 1079

Other: I was going to have Hermione comforting Harry over his reverse-homesickness. That… _sort of_ happened...

**Normality and Morality**

"You ever feel homesick, Hermione?"

Hermione glanced up at Harry, who was staring out at the Black Lake, spinning a thin, flat stone in his hand. He looked like he might skip it at some point, but for now, it stayed with him.

The two of them were sitting under one of the trees by the lake, Hermione with a book, Harry with nothing, just sitting pensively and enjoying the sunshine. Their exams had finished, they'd saved the Philosopher's Stone, and they'd be going home in a few days.

"I suppose so," Hermione agreed, wondering what brought this on. "But it won't be much longer now before we're going home ourselves. Isn't it a bit of a moot point?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted, a frown crossing his features. "I've never really been homesick before. If anything, I'd think I'd be homesick for Hogwarts. But… I guess, sometimes, I do miss the time before I came here."

Hermione, sensing this was going a bit deeper than their normal conversations, closed her book and tucked her legs under her. "Do you miss your family, Harry?"

A brief expression of disgust flitted over his face before it was gone. "No. No, that's not it. Not sure it's possible to miss the Dursleys. Seems like they're barely family, anyways."

And, well, that said a lot about Harry's home life. Hermione made a mental note of it and tucked it away. She'd have to talk to Ron about it later. "What do you miss, then?"

Harry leaned his head back as he considered it. "I suppose… being normal."

Hermione snorted. "I thought you said you'd turned your teacher's hair blue once. That's hardly 'normal', Harry."

Harry did crack a smile at that. "Relatively speaking, then. I'd never known I was famous, and suddenly everyone wants to know me. Either they idolize me or they despise me, and they've never even met me. There are all these expectations heaped upon me, because I'm the '_Great Harry Potter'_, and they don't seem to care that I'm just a normal kid. Haven't you ever wanted to be normal?"

"I don't believe so," Hermione admitted. "I'd always rather wanted to change the world. To make it a better place for people. I don't think me happening to have magic is going to shift that much."

"I guess not," Harry agreed, leaning his head in a hand that was propped against his knee. "The grass is always greener, right? I used to dream about being somebody special, but now that I am…"

"All you want is to have things go back to the way they were?" Hermione finished.

"Something like that. Maybe not the Dursleys. And I do love magic."

"So you're homesick for the anonymity, not the people," Hermione summarized.

Harry considered that. "That's a good way to put it. What about you? You said you got homesick?"

Hermione nodded. "I miss my parents, of course, but it's more than that. Sometimes… Sometimes I think I actually miss living in a world without magic."

Harry's eyes widened as he turned to her in surprise, appropriately horrified. "What?"

"Don't get me wrong, magic's amazing!" Hermione added quickly. "I do love it! But before Hogwarts, life made sense. Things were normal. Logical. Orderly. Cause proceeded effect. And now we can wave a piece of wood and make the laws of the universe take a break while we have our fun. Our very first transfiguration lesson, we _manipulated things at an atomic level_, Harry. Do you have any idea how _insane_ that is?"

Harry looked a little lost. "I'm not sure I understand the question-"

"And I get that wizards and witches hide themselves because things got nasty with the burnings and the like, but even if they didn't reveal themselves, have you ever considered what magic could do to the technological industry? Maybe magic and technology don't exactly mix, but preservation charms, heating and cooling charms, water cleaning charms, do you realize how much good those kinds of things could do for the world? How many lives could be saved if we were willing to try and help people out in the world? How many people die of influenza each year that could be saved by a few Pepper-Up potions? How much good could be done by a few magicals transforming waste from landfills into something usable?"

That was a lot more than Harry had ever considered. "Exactly what year were you in school before Hogwarts?"

"It's _awful_, Harry!" Hermione continued, ignoring the question. (He wasn't sure if that was purposeful or not. He was leaning towards not. She seemed pretty worked up.) "I want to bring it up, but at the same time, isn't it probable that someone already has? And even if they haven't, what are the chances anyone would actually listen to me? A no-name witch from a family without magic who will always be looked down on, because she wasn't given the enormous fortune to be born into a family that can trace their magical blood back who cares how many generations!"

"Okay, yeah, Slytherins are terrible people, Hermione, but that doesn't mean-"

"And sometimes I just want to give up and go back _home_ and pretend that none of this exists so I don't have to feel guilty and be constantly wrestling with moral relativism!" Hermione finished with an explosion of sound, arms waving wildly. "So, yes, I think I get homesick sometimes!"

There was a long moment of silence between the two of them.

"I'm pretty sure that's not normal homesickness either," Harry finally told her.

Hermione humphed and slumped back against the tree. "No, I don't think so. Do you think Ron ever gets homesick?"

"Half of his family is _here_," Harry pointed out. "Probably not the best candidate for a normal homesick kid."

"Good point," Hermione sighed. "I get what you're saying about missing your time before Hogwarts, though. I think that was the point I was trying to make before I got sidetracked."

"Thanks for trying," Harry said, shooting her a crooked smile. He looked back out over the lake. "It's a beautiful day."

"It is," Hermione agreed, leaning back and running her fingers over the book in her lap. "Like magic."

Harry nodded. He finally drew back and threw the stone in his hand, which whistled through the air and into the lake, skipping against the water four times before it was swallowed by the dark liquid. "Like magic."


	3. Let it Alone

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Drabble

Prompt: [First Line] There was something odd about the young (girl/boy) who lived in the last house on the street.

Word Count: 1000

**Let it Alone**

There was something odd about the young girl who lived in the last house on the street. Martha Miggens was absolutely determined that she was going to discover precisely what it was.

Unfortunately, Martha seemed to be the only one to notice anything going on. Her husband seemed apathetic at best towards her attitude, and was largely unreactive whenever she shared her observations.

"That girl looks ready to try and jump from the upstairs window again," Martha told him, staring out their own back window.

"That's nice, dear," her husband said, absorbed in his newspaper.

"She's done that three times this week already, and hasn't been hurt once," Martha added. "I think she's experimenting."

Her husband just grunted and turned the page.

"I feel like I should call the police. That's something you should do if you keep watching little girls jump out windows, isn't it?"

"Let it alone, Martha," her husband said, still not looking up. "You worry too much. There's nothing wrong with the Granger girl."

Martha was absolutely certain she didn't agree.

* * *

"Did you hear, Harold?" Martha asked, stirring her tea. "Hermione Granger got some sort of scholarship to a boarding school up in Scotland!"

Her husband nodded, half zoning out at the mention of the girl's name. "She's a bright kid."

"They haven't told anyone the name of it, or so I hear," Martha continued. "Seems a bit strange, is all."

"Let it _alone_, Martha," he said, bored.

He never listened to her.

* * *

"Hermione Granger just came back from her first year at the school," Martha told her husband.

"Hm," the man commented, more focused on the television.

"I saw her waving a stick around in the backyard," Martha said.

"She's twelve, Martha."

"Yes, but I'd always thought her a bit more practical than that," Martha pressed. "Don't you think that's odd?"

"She'll grow out of it," her husband dismissed. "Let it alone, Martha."

Martha did not.

* * *

"I heard Hermione was sick most of the school year," Martha opened with, looking out the window. "It's either that or she was injured by some wild animal attack. I've heard both tales circulating the neighborhood."

"Must be a fantastic school if she's still going there," her husband commented blandly. "Dr. and Dr. Granger always seemed to have good heads on their shoulders."

"Maybe it was just a freak accident," Martha mused. "But I know, either way, she was laid up in the hospital until recently."

"So?"

"She doesn't seem to have suffered from it at all. You'd think with how long she was apparently bedridden, there'd be atrophied muscles that she'd need to build back up. But I just saw her earlier, looking the same as ever."

Her husband rolled his eyes. "Let it alone, Martha."

Martha just humphed and turned back to the window.

* * *

"Have you seen that cat?" Martha asked her husband.

"What cat?" he asked.

"The ugly orange one Hermione Granger has now. It's staring at me."

This was true. The cat sat perched on the balcony outside Hermione's room, staring daggers towards Martha.

Her husband had stopped listening the moment Hermione's name had been brought up. "Let it alone, Martha."

Martha settled for glaring back at the cat, unable to shake the feeling that it was glaring right back at her.

* * *

"Hermione Granger's home again," Martha commented to her husband as she bustled around the table, arranging dinner. "I saw her coming back from the library today."

"That's not unusual for her," her husband pointed out.

"Yes, but she was carrying a stack of books on mental health," Martha continued. "Don't you think that's unusual? Should I say something to her parents?"

"If she's the one checking out books, it's probably a friend who has the problem," her husband responded. "Or maybe she's just considering studying psychology."

"Yes, but what if-"

"Let it _alone_, Martha. It's none of our business."

Martha just gnawed on her bottom lip.

* * *

"Have you noticed Hermione this summer?" Martha asked, only a few days after the girl had returned. "She doesn't look well."

"I'm sure she's fine," her husband answered, flipping a page in his newspaper.

"There's something odd about all of this," Martha continued. "Just something _off_ about her. I saw her reading a book on _potions_ the other day, of all things!"

"It's probably a book on natural remedies," her husband dismissed. "Let it alone, Martha."

Martha sighed.

* * *

"There's something odd going on." Martha frowned out the window. "...Harold, I'm going to talk to the Grangers. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Her husband rolled his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with Hermione!" he shouted after her, but the front door was already closing. He went back to his book.

About five minutes later, the sound of the door opening caught his attention, and his wife walked briskly through the living room.

"There," her husband said, lowering his book. "Did you talk to the Grangers? Satisfied everything's alright?"

"Yes, it was fine," Martha answered, tone distracted.

"And Hermione?" he asked, closing his book and standing, entering the kitchen where she stood looking out the window, a blank expression on her face.

Martha turned to him, still with that empty expression. "Who's Hermione?"

Her husband felt a pit opening up in the bottom of his stomach. "Hermione Granger? Their daughter? Who you've been convinced was odd for years now?"

"Don't be ridiculous. The Grangers don't have a daughter."

He was definitely feeling ill now, not at all helped by the unfocused look in her eyes and still distant expression. "Martha, what's going on? What's wrong?"

Martha blinked, and in an instant, seemed to come back to herself. "What? Nothing's wrong. I don't know why you're insisting on talking such nonsense, though."

"And Hermione?" he asked, checking one last time.

Martha rolled her eyes with a huff. "Let it alone, Harold. You worry too much."

And as she turned back to her work in the kitchen, Harold realized that he had in fact been worrying far, far too little.


	4. Purity

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category:Standard

Prompt: [Creature] Unicorn

Word Count: 1141

**Purity**

"I have to admit, this isn't exactly what I had in mind for today."

Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Gryffindor Golden Boy, and He of the Excessively Long Titles, tramped through the snowy undergrowth of the Forbidden Forest.

"Well, what did you think I meant when I said you need to get out of the castle?"

Luna Lovegood, She with a Complete Lack of Titles, airily skipped along, somehow missing every stick, stone, or low hanging branch, even those obscured by snow that seemed to reach out for the sole reason of tripping up passersby.

"I thought we'd go down to the lake or something," Harry answered. "I'm pretty sure the Forbidden Forest is, you know, _forbidden_."

Luna shot him a glance filled with a surprising amount of deadpan for anyone who'd known the girl for longer than five minutes. "Don't try and convince me you haven't been out here before, Harry. We both know that's not true."

"That's also not really the point I was making?" Harry tried. Which was more that they were going plodding around the forest in broad daylight as opposed to the night that was more appropriate for such illicit activities (though, in all honesty, it was probably somewhat safer this way). "Anyways, I've only ever come out into the forest when I've _had_ to. I've never come out here just to explore."

"That seems like a very good way to get yourselves lost," Luna informed him, correctly surmising that he hadn't been alone for a single one of those trips. "Why wouldn't you explore the forest during your free time so you know what to avoid when you are forced to come running through here away from danger?"

She'd apparently figured out the way most of his trips into the forest ended, as well. But…

"That's actually a good point, Luna, but despite all evidence to the contrary, I don't go out of my way to break as many school rules as possible."

"That's not what Professor Snape says," Luna teased lightly.

Harry scowled. "Snape says a lot of things that aren't true."

Luna just laughed. "Well, you've been looking particularly down recently. I wanted to cheer you up!"

And, well, Harry _had _been feeling down recently. Between Voldemort's return, Dumbledore not talking to him, and, of course, _Umbridge_ – he was feeling like no one trusted him. And since Mr. Weasley's accident…

Well.

He was starting to wonder if they were _right_ not to trust him. Because if Voldemort could get into _his_ head the way he could get into _Voldemort's_…

The DA was helping, a bit. This was because he felt like he was at least _doing_ something, but at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't enough. That he should be doing more. Which he couldn't do because _no one was telling him anything_.

So Luna was definitely correct. Only…

"And to cheer me up, you thought we should take a walk through the Forbidden Forest?"

Luna just shrugged. "To be fair, it wasn't the walk that was supposed to cheer you up, it was where we were walking too. Though if you'd like to start cheering up right now, please feel free. Don't hold back on my account."

Harry snorted. "I'll keep that in mind. Whatever happened to 'it's not the destination, it's the journey'?"

"That's more for metaphorical journeys, Harry. Though I suppose it could apply to literal ones as well. Something to think about later…" Luna trailed off, slowing in her skips. "For now, we're here."

Harry peered through the trees to see a clearing. A clearing that was mostly empty, except for…

"...Luna, is that a unicorn?"

Luna beamed brightly at him. "Yes!"

Harry had a sudden sinking feeling. "Luna, I'm not sure this is a good idea. Did you learn about unicorns from Professor Grubbly-Plank this year too?"

"Don't be silly, Harry. I already knew all about unicorns. There wasn't much Professor Grubbly-Plank could teach me!"

Right. Of course.

"Do you remember that all the boys had to stay back when the girls were petting the unicorn?" Harry reminded her.

"Because of the Nargles," Luna said seriously, nodding.

"Because unicorns don't like boys," Harry retorted.

"Oh, that's not a hard and fast rule," Luna dismissed. "Come on, let me show you something. If it's really dangerous, we can end this trip into the forest like all your other ones!"

Well, that was less than confidence boosting. But Harry sighed and followed Luna into the clearing as the unicorn looked up at them both.

"Hello, girl," Luna crooned, stepping forwards with an outstretched hand. She moved slowly, telegraphing every movement, until she could place a hand on the unicorn's nose to gently stroke it. It only took a minute for the unicorn to accept this motion and relax for the most part, turning to look at Harry as Luna move to stroke its neck.

Harry swallowed, wondering why his Gryffindor courage had suddenly deserted him.

"Come on, Harry," Luna encouraged. "Your turn now. Just do what I did!"

Slowly, very slowly, Harry stretched his own hand out. Doing his best to move slowly and carefully, he crossed the clearing.

First Hagrid and now Luna? What was with his friends loving creatures and them throwing him in the deep end with reckless abandon?

His hand was about a meter from the unicorn when it moved. Harry could swear it rolled its eyes as it stretched forward to touch his hand with its snout.

Oh.

It was soft. And warm. And as he touched the unicorn, it felt like a warm feeling was spreading through his entire body, starting at his hand and moving through his arm warming every inch of him. It was like all his worries were melting away. A wild grin crossed his face as he stepped closer, mimicking Luna's movements to stroke the unicorn next to her.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Luna asked.

Beautiful didn't do it justice. Ethereal, maybe. But at the same time…

"Yeah," Harry said, his grin refusing to budge. "Yeah, she is."

"You know, you were wrong about unicorns not liking boys," Luna continued. "They just don't like people who aren't pure of heart. A lot of boys tend to not be pure of heart, so it's just easier to split the class up that way."

Harry felt his eyes burn as he realized what Luna was, in a roundabout way, saying.

"I know you've been doubting yourself for some reason," she continued. "I just wanted to prove it to you, Harry. You're probably the most pure hearted person I've ever met."

Harry was definitely blinking back tears as he gave Luna a wide smile. "Thanks, Luna. You know, I think you were right. A walk in the Forbidden Forest is _exactly _what I needed."


	5. The Reporter

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Drabble

Prompt: [Setting] Daily Prophet Newsroom

Word Count: 607

**The Reporter**

There are two ironclad rules in the Daily Prophet Newsroom.

The first is, "The Editor is always right."

The second is, "THE EDITOR IS ALWAYS RIGHT."

This is made especially clear by the twin plaques above the entrance to Cuffe's office, which read exactly that. And the fairly bad tempered man is strict about enforcing it, too. Those who don't like him or his policies are politely pointed towards the door and then much less politely lambasted in the Prophet the following day.

To be fair, Cuffe isn't a totally terrible person. Just a bit controlling. And bad tempered. And in control of the largest media outlet in the United Kingdom.

Because of this, if anyone ever wishes to complain about the man, there is only one place to go.

Geraldine Inkquill is in charge of sorting through various bits of potentially classified knowledge to determine what's actually good for print. Cuffe (after a time) had grudgingly agreed that perhaps not all news was good news, and when the Ministry had come after them one too many times for printing information that put individuals in danger, had appointed Inkquill to make sure that it didn't happen again.

Therefore, her office is warded to high heaven, and the perfect complaining space. This has the side effect of making her the "Official Daily Prophet Unofficial and Unlicensed Therapist". (A few of the boys had actually quietly gotten her a nameplate with that title on it a few holidays back. She loves it.)

Some days are better than others, but these days there's only one thing that she hears. Over and over and over again.

"Cuffe is letting Rita go too wild," one coworker says. "Have you seen her latest story?"

"It does have substantiated statements," Inkquill points out, focused more on her own work. "I may not like the subject, but Rita does spin good stories."

"Statements made by gossipy school children can't be considered substantiated!" the coworker cries. (Personally, Inkquill agrees, but she's just trying to make sure they make it through this crazy Potter-hatred phase without too much issue. Or too many firings.)

When the first stirrings of the war begin, Inkquill doesn't immediately notice. But a lot of important documents do pass through her, and it's impossible to not notice forever. She knows the Death Eaters will come for the Prophet, of course they will. Controlling the flow of information is a must for any would-be dictator.

She quietly prepares, and on the day of the Ministry's fall, she gathers what she needs, sets a few things up in her office, and quietly leaves with the two Muggleborns on staff. Three minutes later the Death Eaters arrive. Two minutes after that, the door of her office explodes outwards in flames. The documents within are lost, along with a pair of Death Eaters unfortunate enough to be just outside the door.

The newsroom will have to function without her again. Not that that will be a problem at the moment, as all that they're currently doing is repeating the words of the corrupted Ministry.

Inkquill is no more than a reporter. She's a halfblood. She could sit on the sidelines of this war.

Instead, she and her two new partners in crime seek out the resistance.

Two weeks later, the first Potterwatch is aired.

Inkquill lives through the war. Her friends do as well. And when everything is said and done, she finally ends up with a new office in the new and improved (and no longer smelling like fire) Daily Prophet Newsroom.

Over the door of her office hang twins plaques salvaged from the old newsroom.


	6. Unbelievable

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Character] Filius Flitwick

Word Count: 1126

**Unbelievable**

There are many reasons that Goblins do not like Wizards. This is mostly because Wizards tend to be self important assholes who can't seem to see further than the tips of their own noses.

There are many reasons the Wizards do not like Goblins. This is mostly because Goblins tend to be little shits who like to poke fun at Wizards and sabotage their attempts at law and order.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly when the long running feud between the races began, but it was definitely long enough ago that no one cares any longer outside of the few historians who despair of ever learning the truth. (The truth is, in fact, a long and confusing tale involving a wagon, two goats, and a stolen hammer.)

What is known, however, is that Goblins do not like Wizards and Wizards do not like Goblins. This is a fact of life. Many wars have been started over this.

And it was one of these wars that ended in the union of a Goblin named Grimtooth and a Witch named Lyssa Thornswillow. The marriage was supposed to prevent another war. The marriage practically _was_ a war.

Neither individual seemed much inclined to listen to the other. Their entire relationship was instead built on trying to out yell each other. Occasionally these shouting matches would end… amorously.

Needless to say, their only daughter was fairly scarred for life.

* * *

As another war broke out about twenty years after the last ended, Serenity Thornswillow (named to be the peacemaker she was _not_) found herself in a sort of limbo. She was too much a Witch for the Goblins to accept, and too much a Goblin for the Wizards to accept. She was forbidden to learn any magic or crafting and consigned herself to a boring and empty life.

This may well have occurred if not for the unintentional intervention of Fabian Flitwick. A bit foolish, he had struck a deal with her mother to marry her, sight unseen.

After the wedding (a rushed affair involving covering nearly all of Serenity in robes with a vale so thick she had to be led around by the arm), he was quickly regretting his decision. But by that point it was too late.

* * *

Filius Flitwick had, from a young age, consigned himself to the fate of his line. He would never be permitted to learn magic. Never get to experience the wonders of a school he'd only ever heard tales of.

He'd written a letter, once, to the headmaster. He hadn't expected anything to come of it, but some masochistic part of him had to try. He'd told the tale of his family, hoping for something. Anything. But that small portion of Goblin heritage still carried by his family would likely continue to bar him from achieving anything in the magical world.

And then, on his eleventh birthday, he'd woken up to find a large brown and grey mottled owl sitting in the family dining room. It would be remembered as the greatest moment of his life. Or, it would for the next several weeks, until he found himself walking down the Great Hall, head tilted backwards to look at the ceiling that looked like a sky.

That was a feeling he'd never forget.

* * *

Of course it wasn't that easy.

Filius was a bright boy, all things considered, but Ravenclaw was full of bright people. The natural competitiveness of the house tended towards bullying often, and the boy with non-human heritage was an easy target. He learned very early on to let the cruel words pass him by. He was lucky enough to be gifted in Charms, something he used to his advantage when he began to teach himself to protect his belongings with various tricks and traps.

He also learned to be very quick with a wand.

* * *

Filius may have had more to prove than the average student, but he rose admirably to the challenge. From "Part Goblin" to "Star Student". To "Prefect". To "Head Boy". To Charms Master, to Dueling Champion, to Professor of Charms at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Nothing slows him down. He has to prove himself to the world (to himself), and there is not a thing on the planet he will let get in his way.

And to be honest, as a professor at the most prestigious magical school in the country (and possibly the majority of the surrounding area), he feels like he's finally done it. He has the respect of his students, of the staff, of the world-finally he's made something of himself and he is no longer viewed through those hated racial slurs he heard so often as a child.

He's content. He needs nothing more.

(Many years in the future he will be appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts and will definitely not break down in tears at the last unreached step. And when he receives a letter from another child with Goblin heritage, begging for the chance to prove themselves, he'll write their acceptance letter himself, by hand.)

(But that is the future. This is the now.)

* * *

It's the night the students return to Hogwarts, buzzing with excitement over their long summer, and Filius sits at the head table looking down with a smile on his face. He takes stock of his Ravenclaws, all of them varying degrees of excited, happy to be back at their home away from home. They aren't the only ones though, not by far. The feeling is clearly shared by all of the students here, cheered to be back amongst their friends, even if it does come at the price of school work.

The students chatter for a bit as they continue to excitedly greet each other, not having all found their friends on the train. But it isn't long before they're settling in, quieting down, waiting.

Anticipating.

When the doors swing open and the first years are led in, the wave of nostalgia is almost palpable in the air. Each individual present remembers their first time seeing the Great Hall, the wonder and awe, the nervous energy in the air as the Sorting Hat was unveiled.

(Not that anyone ever seems aware that it is a hat that sorts them. The Hogwarts Rumor Mill continues to astonish in its speed, size, and sheer quantity of misinformation.)

It's as Professor McGonagall begins to explain to the first years how the hat works that the person next to Filius leans over.

"It never ceases to amaze me," Remus Lupin murmurs under his breath. "I remember being convinced the hat would just declare me thrown out. I never thought I'd see the day I'd watch the Sorting from this table."

"Yes," Filius murmurs back. "I know exactly what you mean."


	7. Defying Expectations

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Drabble

Prompt: [Song Prompt] Defying Gravity from Wicked

Word Count: 825

**Defying Expectations**

Neville Longbottom took the stairs of the tower two at a time. It had just been a few minutes ago that he'd seen Harry walking past with a stormy expression, and…

Well, Neville didn't want to see what would happen if he left the other boy alone.

He reached the top of the tower to find Harry leaning against the window, looking out at the stormy grey sky. The other boy's green eyes seemed empty, and his expression was stoic.

"Harry?" Neville asked. "You alright, mate?"

"My Godfather is dead, Dumbledore has been hiding things from me, and I'm going to have to kill Voldemort or die," Harry listed off dully. "I led all of you into a trap, Ron and Hermione are still in the hospital wing, and with Voldemort's return out in the open, he's not going to bother trying to be subtle anymore."

Neville winced minutely at the name. "I-"

"It could have been you," Harry said.

There was a long pause.

Harry turned suddenly towards Neville, expression guilty. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, I just meant-"

"You meant what?" Neville asked, feeling more lost than anything else.

Harry sighed. "There was a prophecy, Professor Dumbledore just showed it to me. It talked about the person who would defeat Voldemort. He marked me-" Here Harry tapped his scar, "-but before he did so, there were two infants who fit the criteria. Me… and you."

Neville took a long moment to take that in. "That's… what?"

"I think it's probably why the Death Eaters went after your family," Harry added. "It's because they knew your family was next on the list of people Voldemort wanted dead, and they hoped to get answers from them. Not that they were successful."

Neville leaned against the wall. "That's… That _I_ was almost…"

"Sorry." Harry sighed again. "I probably shouldn't have said anything."

"No, no, it's fine," Neville assured him. "It's… good to know, I guess. And know that I don't have to be the one to kill Vo- _him_… Well, it's reassuring, in a way? It can't feel good for you, though."

"Not a bit."

There was another minute of silence as they both stood there.

"Did you want to come visit Hermione with me?" Neville blurted out. He wasn't sure what else to say. He just had an awful feeling that he shouldn't leave Harry alone in the tower.

"Why?" Harry asked. "I think I've already screwed up enough with her, don't you?"

"We chose to follow you!" Neville protested. "It wasn't your fault!"

"All of this was my fault!" Harry shouted back. "_I'm_ the one Voldemort was after, _I'm_ the one who stupidly fell for his trap, _I'm _the reason you all got hurt! And now _I'm_ the one who's got a heap of expectations getting thrown at him; expectations I have no way of meeting because _I never knew they existed in the first place_!"

"Harry-"

"All these people keep _pulling me down_," Harry hissed. "And I'm _done_ with it. I can't keep listening to their expectations. I can't keep trying to live up to something that I'll never be."

"Then don't!" Neville yelled back. "Don't try and live up to them! It's not like those people have any idea about who you are outside of some nasty tabloids that none of them should be reading anyways! But we're your friends, Harry, and we don't want you to live up to anything, we just want you to be _you_!"

Harry froze. They both stood there for a long moment.

And then Harry deflated, slumping. "You… you're right, Neville. I think I needed to hear that. Thanks."

"Anytime," Neville said, giving him a shaky smile. "And… it's okay to want to get away for a little while, you know? Just as long as you remember to come back in the end."

"Yeah," Harry said, eyes turning back to the window. "Yeah."

"So do you want to come see Hermione with me?" Neville asked again, gently.

"I think I need a bit," Harry admitted. "I'll be along later, though? If that's alright?"

"That's fine," Neville agreed, moving to the stairs.

"And Neville?" Harry called, stopping the other boy in his tracks. "Thanks again."

Neville smiled at him, more sure this time. The danger had passed. "Sure, Harry. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah."

Neville headed back down the stairs, making his way to the hospital wing. As he entered the main part of the castle, he glanced out the window.

A black speck flitted above the clouds, weaving in sharp curves and harrowing rises and drops. Though he wasn't sure when the other boy had retrieved his broom from Umbridge's office, Neville had no doubt as to who it was.

"I don't know why you're so worried about everyone's expectations, Harry," he murmured as he watched a moment longer. "I can already tell you're not just going to reach them. You're going to _soar_."


	8. A Wizard in Oz

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Crossover] Wizard of Oz

Word Count: 1823

A/N: This crossover involves the Oz books, not the movie. The movie is ignored. There is no movie. Anyone who argues will be fed to the Kalidahs. Thank you.

**A Wizard in Oz**

Harry had no idea what had happened. That night, he'd been in bed, wishing to be anywhere other than the cupboard under the stairs. And when he'd opened his eyes, he was laying on soft ground, the tickling sensation of grass against his skin.

The sun was bright, just starting its journey overhead, best he could tell, and the sky a beautiful shade of blue.

But…

But the grass beneath him was red. And it wasn't just the grass. Trees pushed upwards, heavy red leaves on them stretching to the sky, and the bark itself had a red tinge. The birds that flew overhead were a dark red, and Harry could see red butterflies flitting along the ground, landing on red flowers.

That was… not normal.

Harry pushed himself upwards, and, with nothing better to do, picked a direction and wandered off, hoping to find someone to talk to or something to eat (or better yet, both) along the way.

* * *

He did find someone, fortunately.

Harry managed, with some stumbling, to find his way to a road made of yellow bricks (and it was nice to see something not-red). He'd started walking along it, thinking that people generally walked down roads more than they walked through the wilderness.

And sure enough, after a couple hours, he found himself crossing paths with a girl.

She was an odd girl, a couple years older than he, plain-looking with wavy blond hair cut to her chin. She wore an old fashioned short white dress with light blue polka dots, high white socks, and simple black shoes. A bright red bow sat in her hair, and there was a basket hanging off her arm.

But the strangest part of her outfit by far was the thick golden belt around her waist, encrusted with several emeralds. Something told Harry that it was real, too.

"Hello," the girl greeted, a smile on her face. "You look lost."

"I think I am," Harry admitted. "I'm Harry. And I'm not quite sure how I've come to be here."

"I'm Dorothy," the girl said, the smile still on her face. "And I think I've come out here to find you. Would you like something to eat?"

Harry did. Very much so.

* * *

"This is the Land of Oz," Dorothy said as they ate a simple breakfast she'd pulled from her basket. "We're currently in the South Country, which is why everything is red. It's the favorite color of the Quadlings who live here."

"I've never heard of Oz," Harry frowned. "I must be very far from home."

Dorothy tilted her head. "Where are you from, then?"

"Little Whinging," Harry answered, and, when she showed no signs of recognition, added, "That's in Surrey."

"I've never heard of Surrey," Dorothy admitted.

"It's in Britain?" Harry tried again.

Dorothy's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, Britain I've heard of. I'm from Kansas, myself. That's in America. It's no wonder you haven't heard of Oz, then. But no doubt we'll get you home."

She stood up, brushing herself off. "Are you coming?" she asked him.

Harry shot up. "Er, yes, I am! Where are we going?"

"To meet the person who sent me to find you," Dorothy answered as she picked up her basket. "We'll follow the Yellow Brick Road further south, to Glinda's castle. We'll have to pass through the China Country, and we'll probably have to take a detour around the Hammerheads… It shouldn't take more than a day or two, all told. Oh! And we'll have to visit my friend, the Lion, when we pass by his woods."

"You're friends with a lion?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Oh, yes, he's very nice," Dorothy answered brightly, setting them off at a brisk pace. "I'll introduce you."

"I didn't think lions could talk," Harry admitted as he fell into stride beside her.

"In Oz they can," Dorothy said simply.

Harry was silent for a moment, taking a long look at her. "Um, I'm sorry, but how old are you?" She didn't look like she could be older than twelve, and was almost certainly older than his eight.

Dorothy hummed in the back of her throat. "You know, I'm not quite certain. What year is it?"

"1988," Harry told her after a moment.

"Hm," Dorothy mused thoughtfully. "Older than you."

* * *

"But how could they be _moving_?" Harry asked as they left the China Country, a village filled with nothing but beings made from the finest china. The inhabitants had been quite kind- if a little nervous- around people who could so easily break them.

"Magic," Dorothy said, as though it were obvious.

"But there's no such thing as magic," Harry argued.

"Well, of course _you_ would think that," Dorothy returned. "You're from Britain."

"What's wrong with Britain?" Harry demanded, feeling slightly insulted.

Dorothy's nose wrinkled. "Well… it's _civilized_." The last word was said with a tinge of almost-but-not-quite disgust. "It's hard to find magic in places like that."

"Oh."

"Oz is a fairy country," Dorothy continued. "And it's cut off from the rest of the world. It's even mostly cut off from the rest of the fairy countries now, because of the Deadly Desert that surrounds it."

"But then how am I supposed to get home?" Harry wondered.

"Getting you home won't be a problem," Dorothy assured him, resting a hand on her belt. "I think Glinda's more curious as to how you got _here_ than anything else."

Harry was silent a moment. "If you're from Kansas, how did you get here?"

"The first time was a cyclone," Dorothy recalled. "The second time I was washed over the side of a ship and spent a day or two adrift at sea-though technically, that only brought me to the Land of Ev. I crossed the desert into Oz on a magic carpet. The third time I was wished here after I signalled a friend of mine after getting lost in a series of underground kingdoms, the fourth time I got lost again in the surrounding kingdoms and crossed the desert on a magic boat, and the fifth time… well, the fifth time my uncle was losing the farm, so he, my aunt and I came here to stay."

Harry stared at her. "You've come here a lot."

"Sometimes," Dorothy confessed, "I think that once Oz gets a hold of you, it doesn't like to let you go."

Harry wasn't sure if he believed that- he wasn't entirely sure he even understood it- but there was definitely something in the air, something that felt welcoming, excited and was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

* * *

Glinda lived in a castle.

Harry remembered Dorothy had mentioned something like that, but it hadn't really sunk in what that meant. And now, with the tall structure stretching up and out before them, he was feeling a little in over his head.

The castle was made of stone, inlaid with rubies, and guarded by a number of pretty young women in sharp red uniforms.

"If she lives in a castle," Harry began, "is it because she's a powerful witch? Or is it that…?"

"Oh, no, she rules the Quadlings," Dorothy informed him calmly.

"So, she's like a sort of royalty?" Harry asked, looking like he was about to start panicking. "How am I supposed to talk to royalty? I'm just Harry- I'm no good at things like that!"

"Well," Dorothy said, a note of wry humor in her tone, "you've been doing a pretty good job of it so far."

* * *

The guards had greeted them cheerfully, one of them immediately taking them to the throne room. They all seemed especially happy to see Dorothy, who had waved them off with a smile.

The interior of the castle was just as opulent as the outside, and the throne room even more so. A beautiful woman with long red hair and bright blue eyes sat on a throne of ruby, dressed in draping white silk ("The color of Witches," Dorothy had murmured).

She met them with a smile. "Dorothy! It's wonderful to see you again! And you must be Harry!"

Harry, feeling very out of place in his hand-me-down clothes, gave his best bow. "Erm, yes, your Highness?"

The Witch laughed. "Oh, just Glinda will do. Tell me, Harry, what brings a young Wizard such as yourself to Oz?"

"A what?" Harry asked, eyes widening.

Glinda tilted her head. "Were you not aware? It must have then been your own accidental magic that brought you here. Which is no mean feat with my barrier in place." She stood before Harry bending over to look into his eyes. "You must be very powerful, even now."

Harry scratched the back of his head. "But… but I'm just Harry, Miss Glinda. I don't know anything about magic or wizards."

"Would you like to?" Glinda asked him kindly.

Harry froze. "...I…"

"You could stay here if you wanted," Dorothy said. "You're really nice, I think, and you could learn magic here, and we could go adventuring to all the corners of Oz. Like I did. But if you have a family to go home to…"

Harry thought of the Dursleys, and how they'd be happy to be rid of him. "...Not really."

Glinda sighed. "It's not that simple this time, Dorothy. Harry has to return home… for now. It's not his time to stay here, not yet."

Harry's heart fell. "Oh."

"But," Glinda continued, "that's not to say you can't visit. You have your belt, Dorothy. You could bring him here and send him home. He could learn magic here and explore while he visits. Then, when it's time, he can stay if he chooses."

Harry lit up. "That would be amazing!"

"He doesn't have to go home quite yet, does he?" Dorothy asked Glinda eagerly.

Glinda smiled gently. "I don't believe so. Perhaps you would like to take him on a tour of the gardens?"

Judging by the way Dorothy grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him from the room, she very much did so.

* * *

It was a week later that Harry went home.

He reappeared in his cupboard to the surprise and anger of his family, a strange mark on his forehead next to his scar (which was noticeably faded) and an odd sparkle in his eye that hadn't been there previously.

It was only the first time he disappeared over the next few years, gaining a bit of a reputation for wandering off for a few days (or weeks) and wandering back in. Nothing the Dursleys did seemed to stop it, and locking him in his cupboard for long periods of time was an almost sure-fire way to make him vanish.

Harry, for his part, didn't seem to notice how strange it all was. And he didn't seem too terribly confused or bothered when the letters started showing up. (Though the Dursleys, by that point, were quite eager to see him go.)

The Wizarding World wouldn't know what hit it.


	9. Ghosts of Hogwarts

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Drabble

Prompt: [Speech] "You don't think we'll get detention for this, do you?"

Word Count: 690

**Ghosts of Hogwarts**

"You don't think we'll get detention for this, do you?"

Ernie Macmillian's voice was quiet but filled with humor as he continued to paint the message on the wall with a steady hand.

"Oh, I'd like to see them _try_," Hannah Abbott returned fiercely, a grin on her face as she traced the outline of another letter. "They'd have to catch us first, wouldn't they?"

"It's possible they could," Ernie pointed out, still grinning. "I mean, it's unlikely, but there's always a chance."

"Again, I'd like to see them _try_."

In the months since school had started up again for their seventh year, Ernie and Hannah had both found themselves needing to disappear from the general population of students. Neither had made their allegences particularly secretive, and now that was coming back to bite them.

In all the best ways, though. Really.

Dumbledore's Army was the rebellion that simmered under the surface of Death Eaters and bigotry. They had never been more popular. Or more reviled, depending on who one asked.

While they were hunted by the Death Eaters that demanded to be called "professors", there were far more in the castle on their side than against it. The ghosts that haunted the halls were happy to stand guard and warn them when someone was coming. Certain professors would occasionally hide students when it became necessary, and would often lie to cover up their involvement or if they'd seen something or not. Even the house elves were growing increasingly creative in circumventing direct orders in order to provide the hiding students with some food.

When things became tough, it was good to remember that Hogwarts itself was on their side.

That's not to say things were safe. If any of them screwed up, they faced torture, if not death. Harsh, especially for those first years amongst them, but the reality of the war their world faced. And any of the older students would do anything they could to protect them.

There were also portraits that shared the views of their new "overlords". Luna Lovegood was currently compiling a list of locations where they frequently gathered that the members of Dumbledore's Army should avoid. She was also planning a raid to potentially permanently damage the original paintings of those portraits. If nothing else, that would make it harder to get around. Probably.

Hannah was particularly looking forward to that. She wasn't positive on what the whole plan was, but the notes she'd managed to sneak a glimpse at had mentioned both explosive charms and glitter, and if nothing else, she wanted to know exactly what Luna's creative and slightly unhinged mind had come up with.

(Again, unhinged in all the best ways.)

Ernie took a step back from his painting. "I think this one is good."

"One second," Hannah said, finishing dragging the brush over a few missed spots in the pitted stone of the walls. "There." She, too, took a step back to take in the whole view.

"It's a little lopsided," Ernie mused. "But overall, I think it's decent. Definitely legible."

Hannah had to agree. The large letters, painted in gold, read "_**DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY, STILL RECRUITING**_". It definitely got the message across.

Ernie cast a few spells on it to hurry the paint drying and to make it harder to remove than the magical paint they'd chosen already was on its own.

"Time to go," Hannah said, packing the paint up. "I think if we hurry we'll have time to tag the space outside the headmaster's office."

"Great," Ernie beamed, cleaning up the brushes with a quick spell before picking both them and one of the buckets up. "Let's get moving, then."

Hannah nodded as they left the Great Hall, looking upwards at the Fat Friar floating near Nearly Headless Nick, both giving them the signal that the coast was clear. Yes, it was certainly a good thing the ghosts were on their side.

* * *

"You don't think we'll get detention for this, do you?" Sir Nicholas asked the ghost beside him with a grin.

The Fat Friar laughed heartily in response. "Oh, Nick! I'd like to see them _try_!"


	10. Love's Gamble Lost

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Object] A Love Potion

Word Count: 1043

**Love's Gamble Lost**

Today was the day.

The morning sky was grey, but Merope could see the sun poking out slightly from behind the clouds, indicating it would clear up later. That was good. She wanted it to be nice outside. It was going to be a good day, after all. She was determined to make it so.

A hand drifted downwards to her stomach. Merope was only a few months along, but she liked to think she could already feel the child growing inside of her. The boy (because it was definitely a boy, it had to be) was the proof of Tom's love for her.

He loved her.

He had to.

She stepped back from the front porch, the bottles of milk that had been delivered there in hand. It was with a giddy joy she took her hand from her stomach to close the door, still sending all the positive thoughts she could to the child.

Their child.

Since she had run away with Tom, she'd been very careful to make him breakfast every day. And every day he'd eaten it with a smile on his face, eyes full of love as he looked at her, before spending the day making her happy. And every day he'd ingested the love potion she'd mixed carefully into the food, completely unaware of the dangerous additive.

Today, she left the love potion in the cupboard.

Merope had heard stories of those who'd used love potions before. Second hand, of course, but that didn't make them any less enthralling. She'd heard tell of clever women who would beguile their chosen men with love potion for a while, until they were more confident in their actions or found themselves pregnant. The stories always ended with the women stopping the doses of potion and the men awakening to discover that they continued to love the women, and everyone always lived happily ever after.

Or, well, most of the time at least. But why should she doubt what Tom had to feel for her by now? He loved her. He had to. He had taken her from that awful house, taken care of her, and now had even given her a son, the final proof of his devotion to her.

Why should she think that her story would end up any different from the ones she'd so often heard?

Merope hummed brightly to herself as she began to fix breakfast. Every so often, her eyes would drift up to the cupboard where the love potion was hidden, but she made no move to collect it.

Not today.

It was as she was finishing up that Tom finally awoke, coming down the stairs of the small cottage he'd rented for the two of them. (A perfect little get away from the rest of the world, where they could be happy forever.)

"Good morning," he said with a smile towards her.

"Good morning, Tom," she greeted back, returning his smile and basking in the love that almost seemed to overflow from his eyes. "I've made you breakfast."

"Thank you so much," he said, his smile growing. "You're incredible."

It would be only a few minutes now. The love potion lasted about twenty-four hours, and if her count was correct (and it always was), it was almost time.

Still smiling, she sat down at the table next to him, giddy with anticipation. Normally their breakfast was filled with a cheerful chatter, but right now she couldn't think of anything to say. They enjoyed their breakfasts in a peaceful silence.

Tom seemed to be slowing down as he reached the end of his breakfast, a look of intense concentration on his face.

"Tom?" Merope asked gently.

He looked up, eyes focusing on her, as though seeing her for the first time. "Wh… why am I here?"

The answer came easily to her. "Because you love me, Tom."

Tom blinked, shaking his head. "No… no, that's not right. You're… you're that Gaunt girl, aren't you? I don't think we've exchanged more than a few words. I love… Cecilia! Where's Cecilia?!" He pushed himself to his feet, slightly unsteadily.

"Tom," Merope said, feeling as though the ground was falling out from under her, "what are you talking about? We're married. I'm pregnant, Tom, we're going to have a child. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Wonderful?" Tom repeated. "It's a nightmare! A nightmare and nonsense!" He was getting steadier now, no longer needing to hold onto the table for support. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, claiming you're my wife, but I already have a fiance, and I have no need for another, especially not the filthy daughter of the local madman!"

No, no, this wasn't how it was supposed to go! Merope stood up herself, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. Tom was supposed to love her, not go running off into the arms of another woman!

"T-Tom," she said shakily, "if you're really going to go, at least let me get you something to drink for the road." She crossed to the cupboard, reaching up towards where the love potion was.

But Tom was already backing up. "Oh, no! That's how you got me the first time, isn't it? Offered me something to drink, and then everything got strange! It's not going to work a second time!"

Merope fumbled the bottle of potion with shaking hands, the hot tears in her eyes blurring her vision. "Please, Tom, _please_ don't go. Our child… he's going to need a father, Tom. He's going to need you!"

A sneer worked its way onto Tom's face, and Merope suddenly felt cold. Those eyes that had been so filled with love in their months together had turned harsh and furious. (Like the eyes of her father and brother, both of whom she hoped to never see again.) When he spoke, his words were cutting and deliberate.

"As though I would ever sully myself with the likes of _you_."

And then he was spinning on his heel and striding from the cottage. Merope called after him until her voice was hoarse to no avail. The man was gone.

Overhead, the sun had come out. The sky was blue.

And to Merope, the world had never looked more grey.


	11. Bad Inside

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Drabble

Prompt: [Action] Carving Pumpkins

Word Count: 539

**Bad Inside**

Lily Potter looked to the ceiling with resignation. It did not help.

This was because she was looking towards the ceiling because the dining room that she had stepped away from for ten minutes had somehow become completely covered in a thick layer of pumpkin guts. Looking upwards did not help because the ceiling had not been spared of the same indignity.

She had been married to James for a couple years now, and had known him even longer. She should have known better than to expect anything other than this.

Lily turned a glare on the two man children standing up on the table, each brandishing a wand in one hand and a handful of pumpkin guts in the other. Sirius didn't even have the grace to look ashamed. Both were spattered with globs of pumpkin interior, and James's hair was sticking up even more wildly than usual.

Harry was sat in the middle of the table looking absolutely delighted at the chaos, the only thing in the room that was somehow perfectly clean. He clapped his hands together, excited for the fight to restart.

"James," Lily said, voice hard as diamonds. "Sirius."

Each immediately dropped their handful of pumpkin to point at the other. "He started it!" they chorused.

"I do not _care_ who started it. I am ending it." Lily crossed her arms, letting her wand rest lightly in her hand. It fooled no one-Lily was fast on the draw and even faster when her wand was already out. "Exactly where in the instructions I gave you on how to carve pumpkins did it state, '_Now we all throw the insides of pumpkins at each other and destroy the dining room in the process'_? Where did the pumpkins even go?!"

Indeed, for all the mess the two men had created, there was no sign of the original pumpkins.

James nervously scratched at his hair, which did not help its already unkempt state. "Sorry, Lils, but they went bad. We'll have to get some new ones."

"Went _bad_?" Lily demanded. "How on Earth did they go bad in the ten minutes I was gone?!"

"No, I think they had to have gone bad before," Sirius agreed, nodding solemnly. "They looked right, but the insides were all slimy."

Lily buried her face in her hands and reminded herself that these two were pureblood wizards and therefore total morons. "Sirius. James. Have either of you ever actually carved a pumpkin before?"

"Nah, Mum always just had the house-elves do it," Sirius admitted. "They always looked right cool, though."

"My parents would give me the pumpkins already hollowed out," James added. "I got to do the actual carving part myself, though! Why?"

"Pumpkins are supposed to be slimy on the inside," Lily informed him. "Hollowing them out is something of a right of passage."

"That can't be right!" Sirius protested. "I've had the seeds before! They aren't slimy at all!"

"Because someone has already cleaned and baked them no doubt," Lily sighed as she crossed the room to pick up Harry. "Hurry up and tidy this up. Now we've got to go out and find some more pumpkins, and this time I'll show you the _proper _way to carve them."


	12. Of Ghosts and Men

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Event] Waking up as a ghost

Word Count: 1079

**Of Ghosts and Men**

Colin woke up.

It wasn't that he opened his eyes. It wasn't even that he had really _awoken_, per say. It was just that one moment he had been fighting (—_he hadn't been supposed to but he was a Gryffindor to the core and Harry was fighting and if Harry was fighting he couldn't not fight and so he had snuck back in while the teachers were distracted by getting the younger students out but he wasn't fast enough—_) and then there was the green light and nothingness. And then he had woken to find himself standing in the middle of one of the hallways of Hogwarts. Which was odd, considering he'd last been out on the grounds.

Only just as "woken" was not the correct word, he quickly come to realize that "standing" was also incorrect. Instead, he was hovering about a foot off the ground. Floating there. And looking down, his body was a pearly translucent shade.

Colin blinked. That… explained the green light.

"Well, shite," he commented.

It wasn't that being a ghost wasn't kind of cool, because it was. Ghosts were cool. One time he'd even walked repeatedly through the Fat Friar (with his permission) because he was trying to figure out exactly what the sensation felt like, only he couldn't think of any words that really described it right and instead just ended up more confused about the whole thing and he was pretty sure the Fat Friar had been confused by the end of it too because who in their right mind kept walking through ghosts? Luna Lovegood notwithstanding, because Colin was relatively certain he'd gotten the original idea from her because Luna was Luna and unique and completely awesome.

But even with the coolness of ghosts, Colin hadn't really set out to become one. He wasn't even sure how one became a ghost, which was a little ridiculous, considering that he currently was one. He didn't remember choosing to become a ghost, only (—_the shouting and screaming and there was noise everywhere and people were hurt and people were DYING and he could barely see through the smoke, it was hard to breathe, and there was a man in Death Eater robes turning towards him and he couldn't move, he couldn't do anything, he was going to die but he couldn't, he couldn't, he still had to fight for Harry, for his brother, for everyone but HEDIDN'TWANTTODIE—_) that he'd been hit with a spell during the Battle of Hogwarts and had probably died then.

For a moment, Colin tried to recall what his last words had been, but nothing came to mind. Likely it was one of the spells he'd been casting during the battle. All in all, not a terrible way to go, defending Hogwarts.

Colin glided down the hallway (so cool!) to see what had happened to Hogwarts. The battle was over, the lack of screaming made that clear, and the light outside the window supported it wasn't the (_awful bloodstained horrific_) night he'd died on.

He probably should have felt more torn up about it, reflecting on the fact that he was no longer living, but Colin felt a strange sense of acceptance about it. He had died and now he was a ghost, and that was the way things were. Death really could change a person. Hadn't he been panicking about it before?

But now he could keep an eye on Dennis! Help him out where he could, show him additional secret passages through the castle, teach him tricks to help him get through his fourth year, the one he'd have to retake despite being the age of a fifth year. Ooh, Colin could sit in on higher level classes too, so he could help Dennis through all the rest of his years as well! That was a great idea!

Only… maybe it wasn't. Colin was dead, right? What if hanging around Dennis only made Dennis uncomfortable? Or guilty? Guilty was definitely worse than uncomfortable, but Dennis had met ghosts before, so that probably wouldn't be too much of an issue, nothing that he couldn't handle at least…

But guilt? Colin couldn't do much about guilt. Not that Dennis had anything at all to feel guilty for, because Colin was very very happy that Dennis had _not_ come to the battle, because Colin was a sixth year (with the education of a fifth year and wildly out of practice) and Dennis had two fewer years of teaching and because Colin had died and no doubt had he been there, Dennis would have too. And that was Absolutely Unacceptable, Dennis was not allowed to die until he was a hundred years old and married and surrounded by children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and also Colin now, who would be there too.

All of this depended, of course, on Harry winning the battle, but Colin had no doubt that Harry had done so because Harry was Harry and couldn't possibly have lost to You-Know-Who, even if the dark wizard had years of experience and skill. Voldemort may have had an army of dark wizards and also giants and acromantulas and all other sorts, but Harry was _Harry_, and really, that was enough.

Colin spent a full two minutes trying to open the door of the corridor and watching his hand fail to grasp the handle before he remembered that he was a ghost and therefore could go through the wall. That was embarrassing. Also cool. (The inside of walls were just black, cut off from the light as they were, which made sense, yes, but Colin honestly felt a little disappointed at that.)

The castle was mostly empty, from what Colin could see, and large portions were significantly damaged. There was a collapsed staircase he passed, still with traces of blood on a number of the broken stones. Surely someone was there, though. Somewhere.

"Ah, not another one."

Colin spun at the voice to see another pale figure floating gently down the stairs. "Sir Nicholas!" he greeted. "What happened? Where is everyone?"

"Hogwarts won the battle, Mr. Creevy, no need to worry on that front," the ghost told him. "The living are hard at work restoring the castle. She gets a bit brighter every day. As for those who are not… I suppose you'd best come with me. We've had a bit of a population boost over the past few days, and we'll have to get you settled in."


	13. Crypts

House: Lions

Class: Transfiguration

Category: Multi-Chapter Collaborative Bonus Story

Chapter: (3/3)

Prompt: [Setting] Crypt

Word Count: 1605

**A Halloween Journey Part Three:**

**Crypt**

There was a definite chill in the air, and Harry wrapped his coat around him a little tighter as he walked down the street. Not for the first time that morning he wished for his usual thicker cloak, much better at trapping in heat and keeping him warm through the fall and into the winter months, but right now the draping fabric would no doubt stand out.

Or perhaps not, he acknowledged to himself as he caught sight of a younger woman with dark skin and curly black hair standing in front of a tall stone cathedral, several plastic bags in hand. She was wearing long dark robes herself, despite being, to Harry's knowledge, entirely non magical. There was a tall pointed hat on her head, and everything about her was layered with black cobwebs, giving it an eerie look. No one was giving her a second glance, except the occasional compliment on her costume.

Well, damn. Of course he could have worn his robes, it would be simple to pass them off as another costume. They'd even have sort of matched.

The woman was struggling to balance the several bulging bags of what Harry had no doubt were decorations while digging a key out of her pocket, and he was quick to sweep to the rescue.

"Ms. Fleming?" Harry hazarded a guess.

The woman's face brightened as he took most of her bags, leaving her hands free to sort through the keys on her ring. "You must be Mr. Potter! Call me Ali, please."

"Harry, then," Harry offered. "You look great. Happy Halloween."

"Thanks! You… look like you didn't try?" Ali looked more amused by that than insulted, so Harry took it as a positive.

"Yeah, Halloween's not really my area. That's why I volunteered to help set up here, so I wouldn't have to try and fake it while the kids came through."

"That is a complete and utter shame," Ali informed him as she opened the door. "Come on in. Let's get started."

Harry did not immediately burst into flame upon setting foot in the church, and chalked another tally up under things that the Dursleys had been wrong about. There were a lot of mental tallys.

"Have you done our haunted crypt experience before?" Ali asked him as she led the way past the pews to the stairway that led to the crypt below.

"Erm, yeah, last year," Harry recalled. "A good friend of mine who grew up in the area suggested it, so my wife and I decided to give it a try. We both had a lot of fun, and I figured I'd try and get a bit more in the Halloween spirit this year." Ginny had been a little tipsy at the time and periodically broken into fits of giggles between her surprised and terrified shrieks, which had made for a fantastic story to tell the others later.

Ali wiggled her fingers at him over her shoulder. "Well, you certainly come to the right person for that." She flipped on the lights and set her bags down on the stone floor. Harry set his down next to them. "We'll start you off setting up the basic ambiance stuff while I get the lights and the fog machines hooked up down here. Then we can start getting to the fun bits."

"I'm a little scared to ask," Harry admitted. "When you say 'basic ambiance'—"

Ali pulled at least a dozen plastic wrapped white masses from her bags. "Cobwebs! No haunted experience is complete without them!"

"Right," Harry agreed, taking one of the bags. "And, er, where do I put them?"

"Everywhere," Ali told him brightly.

"Right," Harry repeated, squinting as he tried to read the back of the plastic in the suboptimal lighting.

"You really have no experience at all with this, do you?" Ali said, looking amused at his confusion.

"Not even a little," Harry admitted without a trace of shame.

"Here, like this," Ali said, tearing open another of the cobwebs and beginning to pull it apart. She hooked part of it on a section of rough stone and began to gently tug.

Harry watched in amazement as she deftly turned what should have been a lump of white into a massive cobweb that spanned the ceiling to the floor. If he didn't know better, he would have called it magic.

"Just like that." Ali brushed her hands off as she took a step back. "Now you try!"

Harry looked dubiously at the silky white tangle he currently held. Well, if this was a traditional Halloween thing…

It wasn't as pretty, he thought, and not nearly as well spread out. But it did sort of resemble a cobweb, didn't it? ...Mostly?

"Great job!" Ali complimented him as she brushed past, arms filled with electronics Harry couldn't begin to put a name to and more extension cords than he'd ever seen together outside of a hardware store. "Now just do the rest!"

Harry looked at the misshapen cobweb. "It's not as good as yours."

"Three things," Ali said as she set down the collection in her arms. Harry thought for a moment that Arthur Weasley would be very excited to see her using the electronics and determined to never allow him to discover such a thing. "First, it always looks worse to you than it does to others. Creator bias. It's a terrible thing. Second, I have been doing this since I was fourteen. Halloween is probably my favorite thing ever. And finally, that's the first time you've ever done it, and the only way to get better is practice! Trust me, by the time this whole crypt is done, you'll be an expert at these cobwebs!"

Harry very much doubted that.

"So, you said Halloween wasn't your area?" Ali asked conversationally as she began taping an extension cord to the ceiling for reasons far beyond Harry's comprehension. "Any reason for that?"

"Er, I guess it's just that Halloween and I have never really gotten along?" Harry tried to explain. "I mean, it started when my parents were murdered on Halloween when I was only a year old."

Ali paused in her taping. "...You're serious."

"Yeah…?"

She shook her head. "That's terrible. And I'm also sorry for the immediate thought I had that it sounded like something out of a horror movie. Did they catch the guy who did it?"

Harry wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question. "...It took a while, but yeah, he's gone now. Anyways, after my parents died, I was sent to live with relatives who weren't exactly thrilled to be taking care of me. And they were always a little bit… weird about the… _magic_ of Halloween."

One hundred percent honesty! He was on a roll!

"Were they some of those crazy religious types?" Ali asked, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was currently standing in the crypt of a large church and surrounded by the bodies of individuals who, while alive, could have well been described as "crazy religious types".

"Not really? But also sort of?" Harry really wasn't sure how to describe the Dursleys' complete abhorrence of magic without explaining their complete abhorrence of magic. "It got somewhat better when I headed off to boarding school. I actually got to partake in some festivities, but then there were a couple attacks on Halloween—crazy folk sneaking into our school and destroying property. I don't think anyone was ever hurt, but it was always kind of hard to relax on Halloween, knowing what could well be coming."

"That's a nasty bit of luck," Ali sympathized. "I'm glad you're giving the holiday another chance, though!"

It was a little hard not to, given how the Wizarding World tended to wildly party on the day of Voldemort's first downfall. Harry had been invited to a lot of parties. Where he often felt a bit awkward because he was so completely unfamiliar with Halloween traditions. Sure, some of them were more or less self explanatory, and he'd picked up a lot last year, but certain details still eluded him. For example, the reason someone had set out a large tub of water and apples with no ladles to get either the water or the apples. And when he'd commented on it, he'd just received a lot of stares.

"I'm working on it," he agreed. "I've been trying to participate more in the community events and the like. So far so good."

"If you wanted to, you could help with more than just the set up here," Ali offered. "We're always short handed once the kids start coming though, and it'd be no problem to set you up with a scary costume. In fact, I think I have a werewolf one in the back…" Despite not getting a confirmation, she was already heading for the stairs. "How's your howl?"

Well, if scaring children was a Halloween rite of passage, Harry would take to the task. And he definitely could imitate a werewolf, even if it meant perpetuating the stereotype a bit. Hermione would probably forgive him. After all, he was dressing up for Muggles, not for Wizards.

"It's passable," he said.

"Perfect! Let me dig out the chains…"

(Ginny came by later that night accompanied by both Ron and Hermione. All three had shrieked when he jumped out at them before laughing uproariously at the costume, to which Harry had added a little nametag reading: "Hello, My Name Is REMUS". Hermione had snapped at least a dozen pictures to show absolutely everyone.

Harry decided that maybe he could get used to this Halloween thing after all.)


End file.
